


The Hitch

by lousy_science



Category: Inception (2010), Warrior (2011)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, M/M, Mixed Martial Arts, Pittsburgh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-09 00:46:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5519270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lousy_science/pseuds/lousy_science
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur's job at the sports agency is to keep their clients out of trouble. He's very good at it. But when Dom signs recently-freed MMA fighter Tommy Conlon, Arthur isn't prepared for the kind of trouble they're both about to get into.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A big hand circled Arthur’s wrist. One calloused finger worked down to graze the soft white skin of his underarm. So light, it was like the touch of a breeze. 

Arthur lifted his head just enough to make eye contact with the ex-con sitting across from him. This sonofabitch, who had refused to look up at him for the last hour. Arthur could have quite cheerfully punched him in the face, just to make sure he had his attention. Now it he finds out that he’d been commanding Tommy Conlon’s attention for a while. All it took was being left alone in a conference room together.

He gripped his hand into a fist, leaving it there on the table between them. Let him say something, Arthur thought. I’m not doing any of his work for him. 

The look in Tommy’s eyes wasn’t playful. It was full of bullheaded determination. His hand closed in an even tighter grip, giving Arthur no doubt of his strength. As if Arthur hadn’t studied his fighting form for hours in the screening room, along with everyone else in the agency. As if Arthur was going to be impressed by that.

Arthur felt his lips tighten, and he pushed his jaw out. All this sitting down made him feel caged in, especially after dealing with this stubborn, insufferable man for the last three hours.

When Tommy did talk, his voice croaked with disuse.

“They’ve got me a place to myself. On Bartlett Ave. Number 154.”

“Yes. Apartment B, second floor.”

At Arthur’s crisp reply, Tommy almost smiled. It was the most animation Arthur had ever seen him display. 

The agency had only brought Arthur in on the Conlon account because he had a military background. He never usually did primary media training. It was Cobb who had thought he could engage with the client. Now, right after Cobb and Yusuf had left the room, here he was. Engaging. Arthur had been the one who leased 154 Bartlett Avenue, handling all the paperwork on behalf of Mr. Conlon and the agency. Made sure that it was close to the right gym, well-equipped enough that the client wouldn’t be too tempted to stray away on late nights, and discreet.

Reclaiming his arm from Tommy’s loose grip, he got up from the long table. He needed a piss. The amount of coffee they put away in these things was criminal.

= = =

Most evenings, Arthur had his dinner at the office, and then picked up his Lexus from the garage. He’d get back to his house and watch CNN from the treadmill, then lay out his suit for the next day. Tonight he knew that there would be plenty of work to him to catch up on, after wasting this afternoon.

Tommy hadn’t looked at him again once Arthur had returned to the conference room. It had given Arthur the opportunity to do some watching of his own.

After leaving the empty office Arthur took his time driving around Pittsburgh, enjoying the broad streets slick with reflected light. It must’ve rained earlier. He hadn’t noticed.

It wasn’t New York or L.A. But he’d chosen to follow Cobb’s lead right out of law school. He’d had the big idea for a small, forward-looking sports agency and the strategic benefits of this location had paid off for them handsomely.

The apartment block on Bartlett Avenue was five stories high, narrow and quietly exclusive. Arthur scanned the lights, and saw that 2B was dark.

That was the point he almost turned the ignition back on.

The hallway wasn’t carpeted, but covered in gummy-looking tiles. The place was a new build, thrown up quickly to match the booming real estate market. They squished under his feet, making Arthur feel off-balance just standing in front of the door.

Tommy answered after two knocks. Arthur had been seconds away from walking. There was no light on in the room. Arthur wondered, had he been sitting there in the dark? He took the time to look Tommy over one more time. His t-shirt was greying and stretched over those improbable muscles, and his shorts looked military issue. Tommy looked back, then silently waved him in.

Arthur didn’t hurry. Going in, his eyes adjusted to the room’s dimness. The TV provided a little light, a pre-fight show silently unspooling. There was a bottle on the table by the two-seater couch that, Arthur noted, had been recently moved. 

Once the door lock trigger closed, Arthur felt Tommy come up behind him. He kept watching the TV, staring at the fighters circling each other on the screen.

Those hands reached for him again.

Arthur stretched up to his full height as the thick-fingered hands moved along his shoulders, arms, hands, skimming over his jacket front to lift up his face. Turning his cheek slightly into Tommy’s hand, Arthur made eye contact. Lifted his eyebrow, dubious and challenging. Tommy stepped away, and Arthur exhaled a little too sharply. He lifted his chin towards the screen.

“That Gutierrez and Ashe?”

Tommy grunted. Of course it was Gutierrez and Ashe, the bout had happened three weeks ago and had been pre-hyped so much that Arthur’s dead grandmother would recognise it. Feeling Tommy prowl around behind him, Arthur pulled his jacket from his shoulders. Turned to place it neatly over a chair, waiting to catch Tommy’s eye. His head was down as he paced out the small space behind him. When he raised it, he was frowning at Arthur.

“Bedroom’s through there.”

Clearly Arthur could forget about being offered a drink beforehand.

Arthur’s laugh was loud in the small room, the boxing match mutely raging behind him and this former prisoner, this convict, this thick-skulled fighter wavering there, moving his weight from foot to foot with his hands balled by his sides. Like he was waiting to step into the cage.

Tommy’s eyes narrowed but his shoulders gave way slightly when Arthur lifted up his hands for a moment, open and resigned, and walked into the adjoining bedroom.

This room was even starker. There was a duffle full of clothes placed on the counter, with a med kit and several water bottles neatly stacked next to it. Running a finger over the bag briefly, Arthur stood by the foot of the bed and watched as Tommy sat down on the left side, twisting towards him. There were supportive bandages on both his feet and Arthur could make out a dark palm-sized bruise in dark purple along his left thigh.

Tommy still looked good in the pale yellow light. There was a classical fineness to his features that you didn’t notice in the fight footage. His expression was still guarded, but it had given way a little as the success of his plan dawned on him.

Arthur undressed as Tommy watched. Pulling his tie off and rolled it to join his belt on top his shoes, he suppressed more laughter.He worked with fighters, football players, athletes of all stripes, and had never gone anywhere like this with any of them. Clearing his throat, he indicated the room they stood in.

“Do you like it here?”

Tommy’s forehead creased.

“I’ve been in jail for two years.”

Out of the conference room, unbuttoning his shirt in a dim rented room in an anonymous apartment block, Arthur found that he couldn’t blame Tommy for the resentment. His whole life had been arranged for him, the hours of media training, lawyers in expensive suits talking over him. All of which would be paid by his future earnings.

“I never understood those things.”

Tommy pointed at Arthur’s entangled hands. 

“Cufflinks?”

Arthur’s were lapis lazuli set in silver.

“Why not have buttons, or not have them at all?”

The shirt came off, then the trousers. Arthur considered, as he always did, asking for a hanger, but settled for the counter top.

“That’s enough.”

Arthur’s fingertips dropped from the waistband of his briefs, and he stood up poker straight. It was just a few steps to walk over to Tommy, but Arthur carried himself the entire distance with the upright bearing of a former Marine.

Tommy’s eyes stayed on Arthur’s midriff as he approached. Then he reached out and pulled him down onto the bed, decisively and dispassionately, as if he was putting together a shotgun. Arthur didn’t give any resistance, letting his body be moved into place. Tucking his legs astride Tommy’s splayed thighs, his chest tipped forward. Arthur didn’t put his hands out to steady himself, knowing that Tommy would be aware of his center of gravity. Instead he placed his hands low on Tommy’s waist, and got pulled in by a hand gripping his shoulder.

Arthur leaned up on him, taking the opportunity to brush against that wall of muscle, get the feel of the true heft of what he was holding. Tommy didn’t seem to mind the touching, hitching his t-shirt up without regard and flicking it to the floor, his lips shaping a silent word as he lay his hands over Arthur’s body, settling him further in his lap. Arthur felt something accommodating inside of him open up, tighten his balls, make the room warmer. 

Their faces were close together, Arthur slowly kneading Tommy’s chest, eyes down to take in the tattoos and small nicks of scar tissue here and there where skin stretched over flesh.

He let Tommy take stock of his body. Pushing without force at Arthur’s biceps, assessing, then smoothing down his flanks, fingers tugging at underwear, considering; then moving back up to his chest. A blunt nail over his nipple once. Twice. Sure of its reaction, moving again – a cat scratch over his left pec. Arthur gulped air, and let his chin rest on a bulky shoulder. He licked over the improbable muscle that girded Tommy’s neck. The height difference made for a perfect fit. Their cheeks brushed for a moment, and Arthur’s nerves sang out.

The soldier part of his brain was flashing a message to be careful, aware that he was courting danger here. He was being held by palms that could snap bones like it was nothing, and Arthur’s body knew full well the impact that men trained for combat could make when surprised during sex.

He kissed him anyway. Tommy’s mouth moved under his like he had been waiting for him.

It broke the room’s shaky silence. Tommy was apparently happy to be loud as long as it wasn’t actual words, growling when Arthur sucked frantically at his lower lip, his hands clenching at Arthur’s ass and grinding back into him.

Arthur was letting go like he hadn’t in a long time. Why not? This was little more than whoredom. He could work with a lack of respect.

After all, they had both been trained to be good at control.

Biting at each other, stubble rustling against stubble, Arthur snapped at his neck while Tommy tucked his long body further into his, his thick fingers marking lines down Arthur’s back and into his waistband. Arthur licked over that full mouth then was lifted up just far enough for Tommy to fist his hands in the fabric and rip his underwear in two.

Normally a move like that would piss him off, but all Arthur did was flop back into position and shove his hand down to Tommy’s dick.

“You, too. Off.”

Tommy got his boxers off, eyes never leaving Arthur’s body. Their erections were both red and Arthur moved his hand back to Tommy’s hip, wanting to get his mouth on him.

“No, not like that.”

Placed back on his lap, Tommy’s legs were splayed further apart and making it harder for Arthur to have any control. They kissed sloppily, Tommy working a finger into Arthur’s mouth. He bit back, then swirled his tongue lavishly, making it slick with spit. Arthur’s thighs were cramping with the effort of being held so widely apart, Tommy wriggling down on the bed to drag their hard-ons together, one hand curled over Arthur’s hips to keep him still. Tommy’s other hand was quick to move down from Arthur’s mouth to dip into the cleft of his ass, Arthur shivering at the feeling of his own saliva touching his entrance.

Tommy was still playing, sucking on Arthur’s collarbone and skirting his fingers up and down over his hole, lightly tapping at the knot of muscle there. Arthur knocked their skulls together as a form of a hint, it hurt but did make Tommy move both hands to pull open his ass, his grip firm but not painful as Tommy finding his mouth with his again. 

“Wait. Getting something.”

Arthur’s body juddered in his grasp, one arm going from around him to push under the pillow. He had a tube of slick and a silver strip of condoms there, and Arthur ran his teeth over Tommy’s temple in gratitude.

Wet and hard at his rim, two fingers pushed in to the second knuckle. Arthur keened, holding on to Tommy’s shoulders with a bruising grip just to stop from toppling off. Tommy’s hand was brushing over his side, short soothing touches. When Arthur managed to open his eyes, he saw a kind of softness wash over Tommy’s face. It was sympathy mixed with something like awe, and at the same time his hand was relentlessly driving up in to him. Arthur regrouped, closed his eyes, and bore down.

It had been a while. Maybe that was why he’d followed this whim into this room. Earlier that day they had been introduced, and as Arthur had extended his hand to shake he could feel Tommy’s contempt thicken the air between them.

They scrambled around to get the condom over Tommy, Arthur wrapping his hands around Tommy’s thick cock, knowing it would be inside him soon, thinking of how his wrist had been grabbed that afternoon. He tugged at it roughly as Tommy lifted him off his knees for a moment, moving his trembling thighs at right angles from each other. Arthur’s hand moved up to grasp at his neck, and he felt the wide head shove up against his perineum. Then Tommy was guiding them both into place.

Scrabbling for a hold on the back of Tommy’s skull, Arthur’s hands flexed uncontrollably as his body tried to regain control. The air was slapped out of lungs with the first hard push, and he had to get his balance by propping his chin on Tommy’s head. Tommy wasn’t rushing this, for all that his hands felt tight with desperation where they held Arthur’s body. He was breathing deeply, and Arthur managed to make out the rippling movement of his braced abs as he held up Arthur’s weight in his arms, then sinking him back down.

There was too much lube, and Arthur slid off after the next lift. Frantically he contracted his own abs and focused on fucking himself open. He felt drenched in ice water everywhere except where Tommy’s heat was inside him, radiating out, reaching his balls until they felt like they were on fire. The balance was too precarious for him to get a hold on his own dick, which was skidding over Tommy’s taught lower belly.

Tommy had moved both hands back to his ass, holding him wide open to push up into. One thumbnail was scoring a line into his skin. Lips met Arthur’s straining neck, grazing up and down where his vocal chords were working out yelps and groans. When he felt teeth against his jugular, he began to come, tightening around Tommy who made an empty, punched sound. Arthur’s body began to relax, and he slumped down in Tommy’s arms. A few more moves, then Tommy seized, coughing out something breathless and coming fast.

Slipping a sweaty hand down between them, Arthur touched the place where their bodies were joined, and felt Tommy’s flesh soften under him.

With a grunt, he shifted his hips up and fell off Tommy on to the mattress. Twisting to his side, he worked on getting his breath even. Tommy lying on the bed, curled in on himself. Lying back to back with Tommy, Arthur thought of crabs rubbing their shells together.


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur saw that he had a new text message as he was coming out of a long meeting in Dom’s office. They were in the process of extracting a promising young shortstop from a painfully binding pre-nup agreement. This was the biggest part of Arthur’s job at the agency, tidying up after their clients. Sometimes he tidied ahead of them, too. That was why he was extremely familiar with the look and feel of a fake Louis Vuitton bag, knew all the names of main players in the Florida timeshare market, and had committed to memory the current going rates of every Champagne Room in Allegheny County.

_You can come around after 8_

His phone didn’t recognize the number, but it took seconds for Arthur to bring up the file of phones that the agency leased for clients. As Arthur had suspected, the number matched the one allocated to _Conlon, Thomas_. Looking over the billing history Arthur could see that he barely ever used it.

The arrogance of it was breathtaking. Such presumption. As if Arthur would jump for him. Like he was that desperate.

Arthur turned his phone facedown on his desk. Kaitlin, his new assistant, had sent over a case file full of errors. He picked up his desk phone to call her and found out that it was the result of a recent data crash that had corrupted the data. She promised him he’d get a revised copy in thirty minutes, and he hung up. Picking up his phone, he looked at the text message again.

If Tommy was fucking Arthur, then Arthur would know where he was. Arthur would know that Tommy wasn’t with an escort, or a MMA groupie, or hanging with other ex-cons, or a crack pipe. There was a window with professional athletes where that behavior was most likely to flare up, and Tommy was smack bang in the middle of it. Fresh out of prison, famous, and with a large amount of disposal income, everything had changed for Tommy, and Arthur was sure that he was still coming to terms with the reality of what his life would be like for the next few years. Arthur fervently did not want to see the aftermath of a barroom fight involving a Conlon brother, or be called to post Tommy's bail. He absolutely never wanted to watch another client’s sex tape ever again.

He didn’t reply. But he was there at eight thirty.

This time Tommy chose to fuck him on their sides, almost pushing Arthur into the wall. Of all the ways Tommy could move him around, it surprised Arthur that he picked this one.

Fucking like this was like being back in the Corps. It didn’t take up too much room, and they didn’t have to look at each other’s faces. But he felt cracked open with every thrust. There wasn’t a corner of him Tommy couldn’t reach, his bulk plastered to Arthur's back, feeling like a Mack truck pushing up into his core. Arthur’s joints and chest ached with the exposure. He yelped words, _fuck, Tommy, Jesus yes, yes, more_. Tommy just let his mouth fall open, short, hard sounds coming thick and wet out of the base of his throat. His face was buried in Arthur’s hair.

It was Tommy who came first, pulling out of Arthur then pushing two fingers back in to him immediately. His fist clenched around Arthur too-tight, and he came all over Tommy’s hand after a couple of tugs as hid his face in the mattress, trying not to shake as he was held in place by the sturdy frame of Tommy's shoulders.

= = =

On the fourth night, Arthur came along early, bringing some work to do. By now he knew Tommy would take some time to do his physio, or go over old fights, or pour over whatever legal homework Cobb had given him. Or he’d be set up in the bathroom, dealing to tenderized flesh. Arthur could work while he waited.

It made sense that they were efficient with this. They both had early morning starts, and Arthur wouldn’t be staying over.

He wondered whether Tommy slept much. The TV was always switched on.

Tommy was leaning on the wall when he came in, working out one leg muscle in small, sharp jabs. He had a resistance band, an insignificant looking thing that shouldn't have been able to make him exert himself so hard. Perhaps it was the end of the day, but there was sweat beading on his forehead. Still he did another fifteen, twenty, reps, then another. Then shifted to the other leg. Arthur counted them out from behind his laptop screen.

Afterwards Arthur was sent into the bedroom, where Tommy sat to watch him getting undressed down to his underwear. Then Tommy stood up and came over to face him up close, still quietly assessing, his hands in fists, knuckles grazing over the surface of Arthur’s pale stomach.

“You think you can fight?”

They had tussled briefly on the second night. Fully clothed, rolling around on the bedroom floor. Of course, Tommy could pin him in seconds, but he preferred to wait Arthur out for whole half minutes to see what defense he came up with. Arthur’s muscles felt how outmatched he was, but his reflexes had still been taken by surprise at how quickly he’d was laid out flat.

It hadn’t bruised Arthur’s ego. He had no drive to remind Tommy that he was ex-Corps, or tell him that he knew how to fight, that he still worked out. That was what people were always doing when they first met Tommy – compelled to measure themselves up against his overwhelming strength and skill. Telling him how often they went for a jog. Or did yoga. It was awkwardly fun to watch as Tommy’s complete indifference to them hit home for the first time.

Arthur leaned forward. He could play along.

“I can fight. Unless you think you'll break something.”

Tommy squinted at him, and then suddenly they were grappling on the carpet. He had brushed Arthur’s feet from under him. Such a simple move unsettled Arthur, and he fought back like a moron. Tommy’s moves were never vicious; he just rearranged Arthur’s limbs into submission. Unless Arthur had pulled a knife or a gun, he was no more of a threat to Tommy than a puppy.

Unwisely, he said that last part out loud. Tommy laughed as he pinned him, barking in his face.

Arthur struggled back and got released for a second, then pushed down again, on his front this time.

Tommy breathed out deep and wet into the back of his neck.

“You want me to scratch your belly?”

Arthur grunted. “Why don’t you – just – throw me a bone, huh?”

Which made Tommy laugh more and let him go. Arthur used the time to flip over and wrap his legs around Tommy’s hips, and he could feel the shudder of laughter in Tommy's belly as it rocked his frame. It was like a stone thrown in still water – his body was so rigid with muscle that any tremor seemed to stretch out to every part of him, whether it was from humor, orgasm, or frustration.

They were swaying back and forth, Arthur’s teeth on Tommy's shoulders, his hips stuttering up, trying to get something back. He scratched with his nails, said “C’mon, c’mon,” but Tommy held himself solidly above Arthur, eyes far away.

Eventually he clamped a hand down on Arthur’s waist, pushing him into to the carpet, a thumb thoughtfully stroking the skin over his hips.

“You must be sore.”

Arthur frowned. “No.” 

Yes, he was – they’d fucked hard three days this week. But he could take it. He didn’t want Tommy thinking otherwise.

Tommy pulled down Arthur’s underwear far enough to let his dick out, and looked at it thoughtfully. Arthur squirmed, but he was stuck there until Tommy decided otherwise. Knees and hands moved around him, and Tommy’s body started shaking again with more laughter.

“I bet you didn’t think I’d do this.”

Tommy’s hands felt like coiled knots of rope where they held down Arthur’s hips, but his mouth was soft and warm over the head of his cock. Gasping, Arthur felt his spine liquefy as Tommy worked his lips around him.

He even swallowed, licking his lips and smirking down at Arthur. Arthur swatted his shoulder and lifted up. “Is that even on your diet plan?”

Best to keep things light. Snarky.

He thought Tommy would pull him back down, shove his dick down Arthur’s throat - something Arthur was on board with - but instead he lifted his arms behind his head and lay back on the carpet next to him. Looking like he’d already been blown. Arthur had never seen him so relaxed. It disturbed him, and as he got up he grumbled, “Clearly we’re not working you hard enough.”

Walking over to pick up a water bottle on the bedside, Arthur heard the rub of Tommy’s shoulders on the carpet. He was shrugging. “Think you are. Got two matches coming up. Big purses.”

Arthur walked back to him and crouched down, offering the water. “I know. I negotiated them.”

Tommy took the bottle. Kept smiling.


	3. Chapter 3

_Come over to mine_. Arthur sent the text at 4.15pm the next day. He missed spending his evenings at home. Tommy would be on the road soon enough. There would be more eyes on him at night. There'd be no need for Arthur to wear him out.

Five minutes later came Tommy's response: _?_ Arthur started to type _What the fuck is wrong with your reading ability_ and then deleted it and sent over his address. No reply.

“Fucker,” Arthur muttered. At least this time he’d get to hang up his clothes properly.

 

= = =

“Nice place.”

It was the first thing Tommy had said after being let inside Arthur’s house and walking through two floors. Arthur had greeted him by demanding he go back and re-park his car, which Tommy did before silently coming back in to follow Arthur up to the bedroom.

Arthur was proud of his apartment. It was spread over two stories and had been built as part of a luxury redevelopment of an old factory, heavy on the glass and metal, with walls painted dark colors. Dom thought it looked weird and always said that it reminded him of Blade Runner. Arthur enjoyed being able to move from dark to light so quickly and the views over the old industrial center. The money-making heart of the twentieth century, bordered with chrome.

“This is the kitchen. If you need to eat you’re shit out of luck, there is nothing anywhere, my delivery didn’t arrive.” He gestured to the alcove to the right. “My weights. Don’t laugh at them.” Tommy didn’t even smile. Not unusual, although he liked to have ammunition about Arthur for jokes, liked to find soft places to press into. They climbed the stairs silently while Arthur resisted providing a running commentary on the art on the walls and the antique market where he’d found the door handles.

In the bedroom Arthur began undressing first. That’s how they had always done it, though this Tommy didn’t watch from the bed, instead standing just inside the door frame. Arthur turned his back to place his jacket on the hanger, and that felt good, as did the sight of his cuff-links placed correctly in the jewelry box on the dresser.

He fussed a little longer, letting Tommy get used to the room. Tommy always had his feet planted solidly on the floor, he never hovered or twitched. But his eyes had been uncertain as he’d walked in. No need for Arthur to push him.

“Your bathroom?”

Arthur jabbed his thumb at the doorway behind him. “That one.”

Tommy nodded to himself and moved slow, getting close enough for Arthur to smell the sweat on him. He hoped it didn’t get all washed off. Tommy was scrupulously clean, but even after a shower his body would still perspire, winding down from whatever type of hell he’d pushed it through in training. He swerved suddenly, stopping short of the bathroom door in front of Arthur, the closest they’d got all night. Arthur kept still. Tommy held his look and then reached out to crook a finger and drag one rough knuckle down from Arthur’s cheekbone to his sternum, down the plane of his chest to his belly.

“Lie down for me. On your back.”

Arthur kept standing there until Tommy had closed the door behind him, waiting for the trembling in his legs to subside.

 

  
“Conlon, you asshole.”

Tommy had stayed in the bathroom for seven minutes. Arthur, who had spent the time lying down as instructed, rock hard and getting increasingly pissed off, watched him walk back in with his mouth half-hitched up in a smile. Arthur had shoved his hands under the pillows in frustration.

“I like your bathroom.”

“You’re banned from it in future.”

Tommy smirked, and put a knee up on the bed, leaning down to stroke Arthur’s calves.

“Didn’t want you to turn you nose up at me. Look at you.”

Arthur waited, unsure.

Tommy didn’t say much in bed, and all the times he did use whole sentences were caught up tightly in Arthur’s mind. Sometimes, at work or in the car, Arthur’s attention would wobble and he’d recollect the time that Tommy had scooped him up just moments after his orgasm and breathed into his ear, “ _I like watching you do that_.”

It always left Arthur unable to say anything.

 

Tommy had Arthur curled up under him, urging his feet up around his neck, arms hemming him in, pushing into him with staccato thrusts. With all of Tommy’s mass hammering his neck and shoulders into the mattress, Arthur barely had room to breathe. He was gasping like a fish out of water, his leg muscles compressed to the point of cramping, and all he could see was Tommy’s frown.

Arthur’s lungs were squeezed dry while his mouth filled with saliva. He spat it out as Tommy lifted up on his knees, hands on Arthur’s shins, only to drive down into him further. Arthur’s head snapped back with the force of it, his core tightened, and he thought of nothing at all. Tommy was saying something to him, Arthur couldn’t make it out through the blood rushing in his ears. He bore down with every muscle to keep steady, coal turning into diamonds, the pressure of pain and gravity setting him off and finally, Arthur lost it. The relief of orgasm made him lax and Tommy sank down around him, his hands tucked under Arthur’s shoulders. He moved slower now, steady, and Arthur could feel the weight of Tommy’s stare on his face.

Bracketed by his frame Arthur lifted a hand between them to wipe off the sweat beading on Tommy’s brow. The smile was gone, his expression blown open and nearly as desperate as Arthur had felt moments before.

Suddenly he was up, pulling out, and Arthur could make out hands rolling the condom off. It made sense to Arthur all at once and he opened his legs to sit loosely around Tommy’s hips as come hit his skin, warm and wet.

Tommy loomed over him. “Now you’re a mess.”

He ran a hand through the streaks on Arthur’s belly.

Gulping air, Arthur tried to flick his hand away.

“Your fault.”

“You could be messier.”

Tommy reached to rub it into his hair, as Arthur howled “No!”

“Go on – ”

Twisting to try and get out from under him was no use. Tommy re-settled himself over Arthur’s chest. After wiping his hand clean on the sheets, he brushed his fingertips along Arthur’s chin, his eyes never leaving his face.

Tommy grew heavier, blanketing Arthur with his weight. Their softening cocks were trapped between them, but Tommy didn’t seem in any hurry to move. Still sensitive, Arthur’s skin picked up the itch of the chest hair pressing down on him, the drying slickness on his skin. Trying to keep his face from showing the strain, Arthur could only breathe in shallow bursts.

It was like deep sea diving, Arthur thought, feeling the pressure of an ocean push down on you. Seconds passed, and Arthur did nothing, letting his eyes shut as Tommy’s head slumped next to his. Cheek to cheek, they lay there. Time stretched and then came to a still point. Tommy shifted with a cough and got up.

He slipped off into the bathroom and returned with towels and water. Arthur cleaned up as best as he could, then picked Tommy’s glass off of him to drink from it.

The energy in the room quietened as Tommy settled around him again. Arthur let him rub his clean hands through his hair to his heart’s content. “I bet you looked good with a high and tight.”

Leaning up against Tommy’s hip, Arthur lolled his head back and raised an eyebrow.

“I am not changing my haircut.”

Arthur paid Gus, his stylist, $175 every six weeks to maintain his hair. Together they had spent two years developing the silhouette. Gus’s clever hands had mapped Arthur’s scalp as thoroughly as Tommy’s and, unlike Tommy, he knew more than Arthur did about cut, style, and maintenance.

Tommy ruffled his hand up from the nape of Arthur’s neck. “Nah, I like this.”

Arthur suppressed a smile, and rocked his forehead against the front of the sweats Tommy had thrown on. For someone with such an extraordinary body, Tommy didn’t like to be naked, though he seemed to be happy with Arthur being bare-assed and sweaty, draped in his lap.

“Mine’s too long. I don’t like it. Frank was going to buzz it sometime. It’s getting in my eyes.”

Arthur listened, his hands idling over Tommy’s feet, lightly sketching up his calves, then coming back up to the front of his thighs. The hands in his hair barely moved, settled in place.

“But not too short. If it’s too military, they’ll think I’m trying for some look. Like in that ad they wanted me to do.”

The TV commercial concept had been pitched by a creative agency brought in by Dom, looking to build a campaign for a new sports drink partnership. Arthur hadn’t been in the room, which had been a mercy, as he’d have been hard-pressed to hide his scorn.

They had presented Tommy with the brilliant idea of recreating the famous tank rescue video, except instead of saving soldiers lives he’d be saving bottles of vitamin water. Arthur had been shocked that Dom could even think something so tone-deaf would be a good idea, and discovered that he hadn’t. It was the one idea that they hadn’t got vetted by Dom or Yusuf before the meeting.

“Those guys were let go immediately.”

Tommy shrugged. Arthur sighed, knowing he’d been far less relaxed about it at the time. Dom had worried he was going to punch one of the smarmy agency guys in the face. Yusuf had told Arthur that Tommy knew better than to fight without payment, a joke which had gone down like a lead balloon.

He reached up to play with the strands of hair hanging over Tommy’s face. The extra length had grown from the color of ashes into something warmer. Gus would describe it as chestnut undertones or something.

“Want me to?”

Tommy looked down at him. “Cut it?”

Arthur didn’t say anything. Calloused fingers stroked over his forehead in slow, fond circles. Arthur closed his eyes, felt the affirmative reply when it came, humming through Tommy’s chest.

 

Arthur pushed the Aeron chair from his study to the balcony. He had a kit, bought from the salon, with an electric trimmer that he used if he needed to neaten up. There were scissors in there, too. Pulling on a silk robe, he carried the velvet case down to the kitchen. The scissors shrieked over the sharpening stone he kept on the counter. Tommy stuck his head in the doorway. “What do I do?”

“Get towels, go out to the balcony.”

Tommy looked out to the balcony and back at Arthur.

Pointing a finger towards the balcony door, Arthur snapped, “Hair gets everywhere. Out.”

Once he finished sharpening, Arthur took his armful of equipment and stacked it on an outside window ledge. Padding over to look at the tools, Tommy poked at the trimmer.

Arthur shot him a look. “Don’t worry, I only use it for my neck.”

“I don’t care. I’ve had your balls in my mouth, why would I care?”

Tommy sat easily as Arthur tucked towels around his shoulders, allowing himself a quick squeeze of his muscles as he did. Tommy’s traps were beautiful.

The sound of hair being cut was one of Arthur’s favorite things. It was a stretch, he figured, to expect Tommy to take pleasure in the rituals of hairdressing, but he would try and make it as comfortable as possible for him. They’d both had enough Jarhead shaves for a lifetime.

He didn’t bother to ask Tommy what he wanted, but cut it to a form that Arthur found agreeable. Tommy’s skull was lovely, he would suit baldness, though from the density of his hair that didn’t seem like it would be an issue. Using his thumbs Arthur pressed long strokes across the crown of his head, doing his best to mimic Gus’s scalp massages. Tommy’s eyes were closed laxly, those long eyelashes fanning out over his cheeks, and Arthur kept sneaking looks at his face. It was rare to see Tommy in repose.

The buzz of the clippers was restful. The silky hair on the back of Tommy’s neck was soft and downy. Arthur uncapped a bottle and began to rub his fingers into the crown of Tommy’s head, admiring his own work.

“What’s that?”

“It’s sweet almond oil. You can taste it.”

He ran a finger over Tommy’s lips, felt them open hesitantly then widen to suck the oil off of him.

Later he catches Tommy looking in the window at his own reflection, touching his head hesitantly, as if it might bite. “You don’t like it?”

Arthur hadn’t meant to sound so sharp, but Tommy didn’t make as if he noticed the tension in his voice. He replied after a few beats, still turning his head back and forth.

“It’s the best I’ve ever had.”

 

= = =

 

Arthur had spent the week chasing up the illegal use of Tommy’s image, finding vodka bottles in Russia with pictures of him and his brother printed on the side, tracking down samples of the pirated DVDs coming out of a warehouse in Delaware, and sending cease and desist orders to a clothing manufacturer in Arizona who was producing a line of Conlon Bros. hoodies.

It was an easier life than Tommy’s, who had been in the cage with a 6 ft 4 Ukrainian fighter for twenty brutal minutes that evening. He’d taken a knee to the head and earned a six-figure payout for his win. Arthur had seen that the fight was trending nationwide on Twitter before closing down his laptop.

He was expecting to find Tommy pained and desperate, hyper-wound up and closed tight, like he was before a match. Arthur walked down the hotel hallway figuring he was going to get thrown to the floor and fucked hard. That was why he had left his suit jacket in his own room.

Instead, Tommy was as relaxed as Arthur had ever seen him. He was practically lounging on the massive gold and beige couch in the middle of the room. Instead of saying “Hi” back, he jiggled his knees and wordlessly beckoned Arthur over to his lap, not interested in taking Arthur’s clothes off him first. Arthur leaned over him, rubbing his face into skin that was still fresh-smelling from the shower, the hotel soap cutting into the medicinal smell of whatever Frank had rubbed him down with.

“Here, here.”

Tommy nuzzled Arthur’s neck, pulling him down as he sunk back into the plump cushions, spreading his thighs wide. Arthur couldn’t help but relax against him, even as he felt the heat of blood in his cheeks from the fight and the sticky residue of tape on his knuckles where they brushed down the back of his neck. Tommy remained smiling against Arthur’s cheek, sinking back further into the overstuffed couch. One shoulder was gripped just tight enough to let Arthur know not to move much, encouraging him to drop his whole weight for Tommy to bear.

The euphoria was catching.

They were doing nothing else but making out, an unexpected celebration bubbling up between them, lips slick and teeth softly biting. Tommy radiated something like contentment. When Arthur heard the adjourning room’s door lock switch, he started.

“No,” Tommy breathed into his mouth, and gripped a little tighter. Arthur tensed against him, his tongue pushed deep into that lush mouth. He could taste blood. Tommy cupped his ass, pulled him that much closer. Arthur’s center of balance was thrown off.

When the door opened in, and someone called out “Tommy – Tommy, what the fuck?” all Arthur wanted to do was get up and run fast. But he couldn’t move. The arms around him were as strong as iron.

Tommy ended the kiss slowly. They were still looking at each other, eyes open like they often were when they kissed. Arthur stared into Tommy’s eyes and saw some new certainty set in them.

Frank the trainer came into the room first, but it wasn’t him who did the yelling. That was Papa Conlon. Brendan and his wife were with them, too. There was more fussing and bluster from their father, who kept demanding to know just what the fuck is up and what Tommy’s playing at.

Arthur was tipped forward, and he wanted to wriggle off immediately, but he knew he’d only look more like a guilty teen. And Tommy still wasn’t letting him go.

He was about to say, I work as his legal representative, but it ran through his mind and he realized how ludicrous it would sound. Instead Tommy spoke up.

“Arthur and I are celebrating.”

Tommy’s hold was iron as it moved down from Arthur’s shoulder to his leg. Arthur turned his face away from the group stuck in the door frame, his back aching with the strain of staying as upright as possible.

He met Tommy’s commanding stare, then Tommy flicked his chin up and away. Made a familiar dismissive motion with his other arm. Go to the bedroom. He’d dispensed with his use of Arthur, that was clear.

Arthur stood up. Rage made his hands shake, and he hid it by smoothing down his waistcoat. He nodded at Frank, knowing that he would probably be recognized from a their brief meeting at the office months back.

Then he kept his eyes on the floor as he followed the carpet through bedroom door.

He had chosen this. He was an idiot.


	4. Chapter 4

Arthur could hear enough to know when the Conlons had left the room.

Whatever victory party they had planned, Tommy had ensured that it was over before it started. From what Arthur could make out, his replies to their shrill questions had been short and dull-sounding.  As if he wasn't spoiling for a fight. Because, Arthur guessed, he’d already won both rounds.

Sitting on the bed, listening to the doors slam in the wake of the Conlon's departure, Arthur wished that one of them had hit him. Even Tommy. Especially Tommy. He’d often wondered how it would feel if he did, which vulnerable point he'd left open that Tommy would choose to drop him with.

Tommy walked in towards him, looking even more exultant than he had after the knockout. Fighting a stranger was just normal work, Arthur figured. Beating his family took more expertise.

“Celebrations are off?”

Arthur kept his voice very flat, and his hands clamped on his knees.

“They wanted me to go shake hands and shit, get my photo taken with every gangster in town.”

One of Tommy’s thick hands pounded the other one, and Arthur wondered if he even realized he was making the motion.

“Congratulations, Mr. Conlon. You won.”

Tommy reached out to grab at Arthur as he walked past him. His reflexes were a beat too slow.

 

 

= = =

 

CNN’s red ribbon of doom spooled on. Arthur kept tripping on the treadmill, unwilling to lower the speed to let his feet catch up. He could hear the words of his old running coach snap at him, _You want a torn ligament? Pace yourself, goddammit_.

Arthur was not partial to moderation.

There was knocking on the door. Whether it was the weight behind it or the insistence of the one-two-three-four beats, Arthur recognized it instantly. Scrambling off the treadmill he stormed through his house to the entrance way and threw it open.

“I hope you didn’t park in number 23’s space again. It upsets him. Also, what the fuck are you doing here?”

Tommy’s chin was up, but his hands were cupped together. He was wearing his old plain hoodie instead of the sponsor’s one Cobb was always trying to get on him. Arthur blinked away the sweat dripping into his eyes, wanting to look at him as much as possible all at once.

“I miss the space here.”

Arthur pushed through the distance between them, his fists already up. They connected with Tommy’s chest, shoving him back down the two steps leading to his house. This pissed Arthur off even more, because there is no way the force of his blow was enough to have genuinely shift Tommy.

From his position at the foot of the steps, Tommy dipped his head, looking at the ground as if he was about to kneel on it. The he raiseed his eyes back to Arthur. “It wasn’t about you, that time.”

“I know that.” Arthur ground out his reply through clenched teeth. He knew he’d been a pawn, had felt it in his marrow.

“I’m sorry.”

That stopped Arthur’s fury in its tracks. He never expected to hear that from Tommy. Hadn't imagined it.

Rubbing his face, Arthur took a deep breath. It felt like his first in a long time. “Come in.”

Hands stuffed in pockets, Tommy leaned forward a little, looking up at Arthur as if to say, _you sure?_

“Or put a show on for the neighbors. I’m closing the door in ten seconds, Mr. Conlon.”

Tommy walked in.

 

= = =

 

Later, Tommy would tell Arthur that he’d thought maybe that Arthur would want to punch him. Or fuck him. Arthur replied that, unlike Tommy, he was a lawyer, and he did his best fighting with words.

“That’s what I was worried about.”

Arthur looked over at him. They were lying on the bed, on their backs, the low light of the room making Tommy’s eyes look as grey as storm clouds.

“You didn’t honestly think you could come back here and somehow resolve this without talking about it? Like I would bop you on the head with a newspaper like a bad dog and that’d be it?”

Tommy shrugged. “Feels like it’d be easier.”

“Yeah, you tried non-verbal communication with your family, look how great that worked out.”

At that, Tommy laughed. His smile was stunning. “They wanna meet you, you know. Properly. At dinner. Brendan’s got kids, so it would be an early evening. At their house.”

Arthur had to sit with that for a while. Eventually he said, “I’m being invited for a family dinner. As, a, uh.”

Tommy turned over to face him. “For a lawyer, you’re not good with talking sometimes.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Arthur threw a pillow at his face. Seeing Tommy smiling for that long was disconcerting. And wonderful.

“Frank wants to be there. Brendan makes an amazing lasagna, apparently. Not that I’ll be allowed to eat it.”

“And Paddy?”

Reaching out to gently lift Arthur’s neck, Tommy replaced the pillow under his head. Arthur could smell the sweat on him. “Yep.”

“And you.”

“You get all of us. If you want to come.”

Arthur realized to his astonishment that he did.

 

= = =

 

**Epilogue**

 

Arthur was thinking about the methods he had his disposal to convince a gentleman in Baltimore to hand over certain pictures he possessed of young client of theirs when he noticed his door was open. He’d been walking back to his office after sitting in on a conference call alongside Yusuf with the tearful mother of the twenty-one-year-old hockey player in  the leaked iPhone photos in question. She kept breaking down over the line. It had been a long call.

He walked in, figuring it would be Cobb wanting to know exactly what Arthur planned to do about the whole mess.

Sitting in his chair was one of the most lucrative clients on their list. The guy who had left a bitemark on Arthur’s ass last night. The top name on Arthur’s emergency contact list. The only other person on earth who knew the code to unlock his phone.

“Mr. Conlon. Didn’t know we had an appointment.”

Tommy lifted his shoulders in welcome, his hands clasped on his lap.

“Was called in to sign some stuff. I had to ask Dom where your office was.”

Arthur was sure Cobb had been just thrilled to show Tommy in here. He was too smart to ask Arthur too many questions, but it was obvious that the few people who knew about the two of them were curious as hell. Cobb kept Yusuf off his back about it, but Arthur knew what they wanted to find out. He walked all the way in and closed the door behind him.

Tommy was rocking his chair from side to side. Arthur came around to his side of the desk, propped himself up against it.

“Great view they’ve given you. I like the parking lot. And the dumpster.”

Keeping his arms folded, Arthur gazed out at the ice blue sky. He replied, “I like it. Look - that building there is pure Art Deco, built with manufacturing money. Six stories high, fine American engineering skill. I look over at it and imagine dropping professional athletes off the rooftop.”

When Tommy laughed, his brows knitted together. He glanced up at Arthur, who looked away, back to the window.

Tommy said, “I wonder how long the fall is.”

“You’d probably bounce back.”

“You’re smart enough to come up with another way to get rid of me.”

Arthur shrugged and slipped his hands in his pockets.

“If I wanted to.”

The chair creaked as Tommy leaned back.

“Suck my dick.”

Arthur looked back from the window, taking in Tommy’s sly look.

“Suck mine.”

Without a pause, Tommy’s hands reached for his waist. Arthur had to pull his hands free to push them away. It was his turn to laugh. Catching two rough fists in his grasp, he leaned down until their faces were just inches apart.

“I have work to do. So do you.”

Tommy rotated his wrists slowly in Arthur’s hold.

“Nothing’s up. Frank’s having me taper off workouts for the next one.”

It was a big fight being held at the Civic arena. His first hometown bout in a year.

“Then go home. Have a nap, play some Xbox.”

Tommy stood, looking over Arthur’s shoulder at the open door. Spoke quietly.

“Do you mind it, me showing up here?”

Arthur kept his hands by his sides. He knew how Tommy’s face would feel, the stubble and scar tissue, the softness of his lips. Later.

“No. You’re better to look at than the dumpster.”

Tommy thumped his shoulder and left, pulling his hood up as he went. Once Yusuf had asked him flat-out whether Tommy owned a decent suit. Arthur had replied that, if he did, he would have expected him to wear it to meet his agents, wouldn’t he?

He sat in his chair and discovered that it had been lowered. Before he reached for the lever to hoist it back up, Arthur let himself recline for a second. The heat of Tommy’s body lingered there, and he could hunch down into the feeling of him, as if he was right there at Arthur’s back. Still stronger than anyone else he knew.

 


End file.
